gasoline
by ShadowsTakeAll
Summary: In the middle of a storm a strawberry blonde girl and a whiskey-eyed boy tumble into the emergency room, and that's how it all begins. [PROMPTS ONLY. If you want another chapter, send me a prompt.]


**Hey, and thanks for clicking on this story. There's a little bit of background with this. First of all, the inspiration for this came from a video on Youtube by AerisCruent (I'll put the link in my profile) and you should definitely all go watch it. Basically, after graduation Stiles and Lydia teamed up and decided to travel across the country solving crimes and saving people, Supernatural-style. Everything up to the end of season three is canon, and I'm ignoring season four. If there's any interest in this story I'm happy to continue it as a series of one-shots, all standalone but still kind of liked (as in, each is a single 'case' but all take place at some point in their journey). In fact, if you're interested, leave me a review with a prompt. And in this case the more detailed the better, so give me as much information as you want (length, style, genre, characters, Big Bad, etc) and I'll see what I can do. I think that's about it, so enjoy, review, and maybe I'll see you in another chapter.**

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/

In the middle of a storm a strawberry blonde girl and a whiskey-eyed boy tumble into the emergency room, and that's how it all begins.

There's a panicked look in her eyes, and his arm's wrapped around her shoulder like he's the only thing holding her up. They stumble across the room, catching the attention of the receptionist behind the desk. She glances up at them, adjusts her glasses, and runs a hand through her jet-black hair.

"Can I help you?" she asks primly, her tone slightly suspicious; the newcomers don't look any older than twenty, and she doesn't want to have to deal with more troublemaking teens in the last hour of her shift.

"No, we just came for the friendly hospitality," the boy says, which causes the girl to slap him on the arm. "Ow," he complains, pretending to be hurt.

"Ryan," she scolds, and then she turns to the receptionist with an apologetic look. "Apparently my boyfriend still hasn't mastered the art of appropriate use of sarcasm."

"Hey!" he exclaims, really looking hurt this time. "Sarcasm happens to be my way of dealing with situations that make me nervous or uncomfortable or -"

The receptionist clears her throat, and Ryan ceases in mid-sentence. "What can I help you with?"

"I've been dizzy for the past half hour," the girl says, shifting her weight so that she's almost leaning away from her boyfriend, "and I've fainted twice. I think it might be -"

"Fill these out and wait in line." The receptionist shoves a clipboard toward her and indicates the only two unoccupied chairs in the waiting room.

"Thanks." The girl takes the clipboard and turns to leave, but suddenly her eyes tilt back in her head and her legs go weak.

"Bindy," Ryan says, alarmed; now he really is the only thing holding her up. "Bindy, can you hear me?"

There's no response. Bindy's eyes close and she slumps into Ryan's arms. The receptionist is already reaching for the phone, calling for a doctor. And if she's not much mistaken, as two on-call doctors come and carry the girl away, the boy actually smiles.

Something strange is going on here.

/

An hour later, he slips into her hospital room. She's awake and relatively alert, and she jumps from her bed as soon as he comes inside.

"It's about time," she says, taking the backpack he's offering her. Inside is a change of clothes, and she gratefully clutches her favorite pair of boots to her chest. This hospital gown is starting to itch.

"Sorry," he says, looking at the clock on the wall. It's almost eight thirty, which means they need to hurry this thing up. "I got held up."

Halfway through untying the string of the hospital gown, she pauses. "Vending machine steal your quarters again?" she snickers.

"No," he says, his face going slightly pink. "The doctors had all these questions for me. I only just managed to get away."

"Right." She finishes untying the gown, and then looks expectantly at him. He doesn't move. "_Stiles_."

"Fine." With a dramatic sigh he turns his back to her, waiting for her to get dressed. "But it's not like I haven't seen it all before."

Two minutes later she's shoving the hospital gown into the backpack and dumping that under the bed. "All right," she says briskly, flicking her hair over her shoulder and reaching for his hand. "Let's do this."

Stiles hesitates. "Lydia, are you sure -"

She holds up her hand to cut him off. "I'm sure," she says, and that's good enough for him.

They make their way out of the room and carefully down the hall, on edge and expecting to be caught at every step. This is a risky plan, but like most of their others it had seemed like a good idea at the time. They're both regretting it now, but neither of them mention it.

"Room three nineteen," Lydia reminds him as they turn the last corner.

"I know," he says patiently, despite his hammering heart. "And it's the painting, right?"

"Right." She lets go of his hand now, reaching instead for the door of room 319.

"So we just go in there, burn the painting, and then the ghost disappears?" Stiles says, even though they've gone over this plan a hundred times before.

One hand still on the door handle, Lydia gives him one of her patented _I can't believe you're really asking me this _looks. "Why are you questioning this now?" she asks. "It was your plan."

"Yeah, and we all know how well my plans usually turn out."

Lydia ignores him and opens the door. As soon as she does, a gust of cold air rushes over them. Unexpected, but it could have been worse. Cautiously, Stiles leads the way into the room, Lydia trailing a step behind. It seems to be empty, and the open window explains the coldness. If they hadn't done their research so thoroughly they'd wonder if there was even anything supernatural here.

While Stiles closes the window, Lydia starts scanning the wall, looking for the right picture. She finds it hanging over the bed and quickly pulls it down, tugging the scrap of paper out of the frame. It's a child's painting, a single red handprint. What most people don't know is that it was painted using blood, and it's the reason this room is haunted.

"Okay," Stiles says once he's finished wrestling with the window, "give it here."

Lydia doesn't move. Her eyes are fixed on something standing beneath the window. Or rather, someone. "Stiles," she says softly, "I think we may have a problem."

/

This turns out to be a slight understatement, because in less than a minute both Stiles and Lydia find themselves on the floor.

"This might be a horrible time to point it out," Stiles murmurs as he and Lydia scramble out of the way of a strangely corporeal ghost, "but I think we may have been slightly mistaken in our 'the hospital is haunted and we need to burn the painting' theory."

"You think?" Lydia shoots back, diving out of the way as the ghost flings the empty picture frame at them. It definitely doesn't look like a ghost, and it doesn't act like a ghost, and – "It doesn't feel like a ghost," she says suddenly, realization hitting her like Stiles' infamous baseball bat.

"What?" he gasps, scrambling to his feet and dragging her toward the door as the ghost keeps advancing on them.

"I mean they don't feel like they're dead," Lydia explains. They make it out the door and slam it closed, and the ghost presses up against it, trying to get out. "And since when do ghosts need to actually _open_ doors? Can't they just drift through them?"

Stiles opens his mouth to answer, but closes it again as he realizes. The figure on the other side of the door is gone. Sharing a startled look with Lydia, he slowly opens the door. The room is empty.

"I think we -" Stiles' words turn into a shriek as a large brown rat scurries past him.

"My hero," Lydia teases, laughing at him, and he just rolls his eyes.

"I think we need some help," he finishes, closing the door again.

"Did you have anyone in mind?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

/

"All right." Scott dumps his bag on the floor and spreads his arms wide, looking at his two best friends sitting on the bed in some dingy hotel room. "You called, I came. So what's going on?"

Lydia and Stiles take turns filling him in, and he grows increasingly more concerned. By the time he finishes his frown is so deep Stiles wants to warn him to smile or his face will freeze like that, but Scott speaks before he can. "So it's not a ghost," he says, and Lydia nods. "What else could it be?"

"Maybe -" Stiles starts, but breaks off as a small black and white dog jumps up onto his lap. He grimaces. "Lydia, get your barking rat off of my lap -"

Lydia snatches the dog up, looking offended. "Don't mind him, Prada," she croons, "he's just jealous because he knows I love you more than him."

Scott, recognizing that this could be the beginning of yet another legendary Stiles-Lydia sarcasm-showdown, quickly intervenes. "So tomorrow I think we should -" Scott says, and then his eyes narrow. He looks from Lydia to Stiles and then back again. "Have either of you two showered today?"

Stiles snorts with laughter and Lydia's eyes widen in indignation. "Scotty, I think you've been spending too much time with Malia," he says. "Back in the human world it's not considered particularly polite to ask people about their personal hygiene habits."

"It's important," Scott says, his voice so earnest that the other two actually listen to him.

"I showered this morning, before we went to the hospital," Stiles says, "not that I needed to, since that walk through the storm earlier would have done the trick anyway."

"I had a shower after we got back," Lydia says, "while we were waiting for you."

Scott closes his eyes and inhales deeply, and the other two just leave him to his weird werewolf Zen thing. Lydia strokes Prada's ears while Stiles pointedly ignores them.

"You don't smell like yourself," Scott says to Stiles. "I mean, not really. You smell like…"

"If you're going to say I smell like expired shampoo and slightly moldy cheese, you can save it," Stiles says good-naturedly. "Lydia already gave me that lecture."

"No," Scott says thoughtfully, and then, "I think I know what we're dealing with."

The other two stare at him, waiting for him to speak. Prada starts nibbling on the zipper of Lydia's jacket.

"Shapeshifters," Scott explains. "They can look like animals, other people, sometimes even objects -"

"The rat!" Lydia exclaims, jumping to her feet. Prada tumbles to the ground and glares at her.

Stiles blinks. "The -? Oh!" He jumps to his feet too, and then he hauls Scott upright too. "C'mon, alpha. We need to go."

/

It's a little harder to get back into the hospital this time, since Lydia had technically disappeared. But they manage to sneak in the back entrance and get back down to room 319 without being detected or called out on their slightly illegal activities.

"Here, ratty," Stiles calls softly, eyes scanning the ground.

"They're not going to respond to that," Lydia chides. "It's a person, remember, not an animal."

"Yeah, a person who's been going around scaring hospital patients to death," Stiles says darkly.

Scott follows the scent trail, the other two follow him, and they all end up at a dead end.

"Not that I'm questioning you, O wise and wonderful alpha," Stiles says, "but are you sure -"

Something pounces on him, knocking him to the ground. This time Lydia's the one to shriek, but it only lasts a second before she slams into the ground too. Scott's quicker on the uptake, and manages to pin the attacker against the wall. "Yeah, Stiles," he says over his shoulder, struggling to hold on, "I'm pretty sure."

"Hey," Lydia pants, looking up at the person who'd knocked her down, "I know you."

The receptionist rolls her eyes. "Yes, yes, well done. Now you three had better get out of here unless you want this to end very violently."

Stiles slowly stands up and then holds out his hand to Lydia. She accepts it and he pulls her to her feet, and the two of them watch as the receptionist tries – and fails – to get out of Scott's grip. He's not hurting her, just holding her, and she seems simultaneously frustrated and mortified.

"You're just a kid," she says, glaring at him. "Why are you so strong?"

"He's not just a kid," Stiles says.

"He's an alpha," Lydia adds.

The receptionist goes very still. "An alpha?" she questions, her eyes searching his face for some sign he's lying. "You're a werewolf?"

His eyes flash red and her face goes pale. "I'm giving you one chance," he says firmly. "Leave. Get out of town and never come back, and we'll let you live."

"Why would you think that -" she starts, but Scott's grip around her wrist tightens and her words trail off. "Okay, okay," she says hastily, "I'll go."

Scott surveys her carefully, and Lydia and Stiles know he's listening to her heartbeat. Apparently she's telling the truth, because he lets her go and she runs off. All three of them know they're never going to see her again.

/

The next afternoon Scott, Stiles, and Lydia are all in their hotel room. It's a couple towns over from Beacon Hills, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it-town, and it's also their first mission after deciding to give freelance monster-hunting a go. Scott's packing up his things, having spent the night in their hotel room and needing to go back to Beacon Hills today. Stiles is flicking through channels on the TV, occasionally muttering things like "Who would _watch_ this crap?" and "Why do we _need_ another reality TV show?" Lydia's sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed, and tossing a small ball across the room for Prada.

"All right," Scott announces, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I should head back now."

"Uh huh," Stiles says without looking away from the TV.

Lydia throws the ball at him to get his attention. It hits Stiles on the shoulder and then bounces away, and Prada happily scampers after it. "Um, ow?" Stiles says, rubbing his shoulder, and Lydia just snorts.

Scott looks at both of them. "Are you sure you guys are going to be okay? I mean, this is a dangerous job, and if you're having second thoughts -"

"We're not," Lydia assures him, and Stiles backs her up by giving Scott a thumbs-up.

Scott blinks. "You guys almost got killed by a shapeshifter back there," he points out. "And we didn't exactly solve the case. We didn't even figure out what she wanted -"

"Money," Lydia says simply, tapping her knee to get Prada to come back to her. He drops the ball in her lap, wagging his tail. "She was pretending to be a ghost to scare some of the more… suggestible patients. They'd die, she'd siphon off their life insurance. Pretty neat system."

"Don't go getting any ideas," Stiles jokes, and she throws the ball at him again. This time he catches it, but Prada doesn't stop in time. He barrels into Stiles, causing the boy to let out a startled grunt. After shooing Prada away, Stiles glares at Lydia. "You should really think about -"

"I'm not getting rid of my dog."

"But just think about -"

"No, Stiles. He stays."

"But -"

"Yeah," Scott murmurs, slipping out the door while they're bickering, "you guys are going to be fine."

And it's true. Stiles and Lydia are probably going to be okay.

It's the rest of the world that should be worried now.

/

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**That was way, way lighter than my stories usually are. Did I do okay or should I stick to just killing everybody off?**


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